


Take It Strong

by madeinessos



Series: Drabbles [5]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Endgame Era, F/F, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/pseuds/madeinessos
Summary: But Aunt Carol's palm on her cheek remained tender, as it had been all those years ago when Monica was still her spoiled darling girl.





	Take It Strong

**Author's Note:**

> Title from JONES' "Indulge."

Aunt Carol's palm on her cheek was newly hesitant, and Monica could see why. This close, Aunt Carol's eyes were luminous and laid bare. Monica could see herself being seen. Being taken in. Her laugh lines. Her bloomed cheekbones. Her heavily-lidded eyes now aided by scholarly-chic glasses.

A blink for Aunt Carol, half a lifetime for Monica.

Monica wasn't wearing glasses now, though, and she was almost sitting on Aunt Carol's lap. Now, too, it was no longer Mom's red sofa in Louisiana. But Aunt Carol's palm on her cheek remained tender, as it had been all those years ago when Monica was still her spoiled darling girl.

"I want this," Monica assured her, pleaded with her, and watched as the usual steel in Aunt Carol's eyes became filmy enough to peel away.

"We shouldn't." Aunt Carol's thumb was slightly hot. She raised her other hand and cradled Monica's face, as she had done all those years ago (only then it had been playful, maternal, adoring)."I shouldn't."

Monica had seen those same hands glowing. Starbright. She wanted those same fingers under her breasts, on the inside of her thighs, on the hollow of her throat. So with her gaze still firmly on Aunt Carol, Monica took one hot fingertip into her mouth, cradled it on her tongue, and said, "But do you want this?"

The film had peeled away, like satin slipping off skin.

Aunt Carol looked like a woman at once parched and pained. Above all, she looked like she'd made up her mind.

She surged forward, and Monica surged upward, and then she was straddling Aunt Carol's denim jeans, and then Aunt Carol was scrabbling with Monica's velvet buttons, and then Monica was raising her eyes and seeing their afternoon-lit reflections on the gilt mirror she'd inherited from Mom years before the Snap. Aunt Carol saw where she was looking, and having looked at that mirror herself countless times, a lifetime ago, sometimes when all three of them had been snugly squashed on that red sofa in Louisiana, she tipped Monica's face away from it. She kissed Monica's cheek, twice, thrice, then a melting trail down to Monica's throat. Then paused a long time over Monica's bare and beating chest. As if repeating her promise that they'd get Mom back, as if in apology, as if in reassurance that for now, at least, they had each other.


End file.
